


Three Seats in Hell

by fishyflame



Series: Kill me, and tell the stars you won. [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: As are Puffy and Sam, Dead Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Dead Toby Smith | Tubbo, Dead Wilbur Soot, Death, Dream Smp, Dream is only mentioned, Gen, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm tagging it anyway, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Running Away, Wakes & Funerals, does this count as hurt no comfort?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29718891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishyflame/pseuds/fishyflame
Summary: Tubbo forgot that one of the 'perks' of being dead would be the others. Jschlatt and Wilbur Soot specifically. At least, with no threat of death anymore, he could give each of them a piece of his mind.-My summaries suck ass, but basically just a continuation of 'Kill me (tell the stars you've won)' which you can readhereI recommend reading the first part, but you don't have to. It'd make more sense with it though.
Relationships: Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Kill me, and tell the stars you won. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2171478
Comments: 3
Kudos: 85
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	Three Seats in Hell

**Author's Note:**

> I said I'd make a second part, and this is it. Enjoy :D

Truly, Tubbo hadn’t expected to survive this. You couldn’t exactly blame him. It was himself and Tommy, two traumatised, broken teenagers, versus the most powerful person on the server. The most powerful person being Dream. Dream, who was basically a god. Dream who had fought Technoblade and nearly come out victorious. What he hadn’t expected was for Punz and the others to come and save them. Well, save Tommy. They were a bit late for Tubbo. But that didn’t matter. Tubbo meant what he said on that mountain. He was done with his life. He’d done what he needed to do in his life. Tommy had been right. The discs were worth more than he ever was. It had always been that way. Tommy was safe, Dream was imprisoned. It was over. 

Tubbo hadn’t wanted to die, but it was him or Tommy. They were always together. But this was the one thing they couldn’t do together. He’d always wanted to protect Tommy. That was his goal. That was how it had always been. Tommy was happy now, at least as happy as he could be without Tubbo. That was fine.

One  _ perk  _ of being dead that Tubbo completely forgot about was the others. Schlatt and Wilbur. Three presidents united,  _ in hell.  _ Ah yes. He was doomed to an afterlife with the man who had him executed, and the man who betrayed his best friend. At least, with no threat of death, he could give each of them a piece of his mind. ‘Spiralling into insanity and losing your nation is no fucking excuse Wilbur. Tommy’s sixteen. I was seventeen. We’re kids. You’ve never fucking apologised Wilbur! You’ve never apologised to me or to Tommy or to anyone.’ Schlatt was snickering in the back, a ghostly bottle of alcohol held loosely in his hand. Tubbo spun to look at him, ‘Oh you’re not innocent _ Mr President _ . Remember my execution?’ At least Schlatt looked sheepish. Wilbur looked vaguely annoyed. It was strange seeing Wilbur with memories and regrets and feelings, after the only one they saw was Ghostbur, who didn't remember anything that was worth anything. 

Each ghost knew more than they let on to the general public, those who were still alive. It was safer that way, they thought. By ‘only’ remembering the good bits, Wilbur was safe from the consequences he would’ve inevitably been forced to face had the living known that he remembered everything (It was selfish, and they all knew it). Schlatt didn’t appear frequently as a ghost anyway, so no one really knew what he remembered and what he didn’t. Tubbo didn’t know what he was going to be like as a ghost. To be fair, he’d only been dead for about 2 days when he met the others. And he didn’t hesitate to yell at them, ‘...You can’t expect teenagers to be good presidents! You can’t expect teenagers to carry the same responsibility as adults. Exiling Tommy and Wilbur was a mistake and you know it!’

‘Didn’t stop you doing the same.’ Wilbur muttered darkly. Somehow, after being dead for months, after being treated well by the people (a vast difference from during his life, especially towards the end), Wilbur hadn’t changed much. He was still the same man who had built L’Manberg, the same man who had spiralled into insanity after the election went wrong. He still managed to hold a grudge against Schlatt, despite them being ‘friends’ in previous worlds. 

Tubbo spun round very fast, an accusatory finger pointing to Wilbur, ‘How dare you. Y’know, maybe if you’d accepted the presidency back from Tommy, maybe if you hadn’t been so obsessed with your “unfinished symphony” and “Chekhov’s Gun”, things could’ve been different. I don’t doubt that you’d never exile Tommy. Things were different. You were never in a position like that, you don’t get to make judgements like that.’

Quietly, Schlatt spoke, ‘I’m sorry.’ It was weak and Tubbo barely heard it, but it was there. 

‘What?’

‘I said, I’m sorry. Damn, I’ve spent enough time intangibly watching this server plunge further downhill. I know things could’ve been different if… If I hadn’t run for president, if I hadn’t exiled Tommy and Wilbur the first time. Damnit. I’m sorry Tubbo.’ Schlatt lamented, regretfully, ‘It’s too late to fucking change things though. Sorry doesn’t mean shit. Sorry doesn’t bring me back to life, it doesn’t bring Man-  **L** ’Manberg back.’

Tubbo hesitated, mulling over Schlatt’s words, ‘Thank you. You’re not forgiven though, but I guess it’s a start. Wilbur?’

‘I have a lot to apologise for, don’t I?’ Wilbur muttered, ‘Where do I start?’

‘The beginning’s always a good place.’ Schlatt answered, sarcastically. 

‘Thanks.’ Wilbur said tersely, ‘Tubbo… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all the shit I’ve done, to you and to Tommy and to everyone else. From the first war to my death. I’m sorry for forcing  _ children  _ to fight in that war, I’m sorry for… blaming you and Tommy in the end. I'm sorry for all the shit that went down in L’Manberg near the end. Schlatt’s right though. Sorry doesn’t do shit.’

‘Huh.’

‘What!’ Wilbur glared at Schlatt.

‘Didn’t think you had it in you loverboy.’ He smiled. 

‘...Like with Schlatt, thanks for the apology. It’s a start.’ Tubbo smiled. They sat in silence for a bit then.

His funeral was held a day after Dream was imprisoned. He didn't go. Instead he watched from a distance, in the treeline, the other ghosts by his side. It stung. He wished he wasn’t dead. He wished that things were different, but they weren’t. They’d both deal with these consequences, because they’d both lost so much. But Tubbo was happy. Not quite happy, to be fully honest, but content. Tommy was okay, people missed him, the discs were safe. Enough people came to his funeral. They all cared. Tubbo was okay with this outcome. If you’d looked towards the forest during the funeral, you would’ve seen three silvery beings, barely there, floating at the edge of the trees. But no one did.

Tubbo watched with anguish as Tommy stayed by his grave, day after day. He tried to look on the bright side, at least Tommy was sleeping, but he was painfully aware of how hard Tommy was taking his death. He wanted nothing more than to run up to Tommy and hug him and tell him everything was going to be alright. But he couldn’t. Because of two things. One, things were never going to be okay again. Two, Tubbo wasn’t tangible. Not yet. According to Schlatt, it took a lot out of you to become tangible, unless you were Wilbur (who spent the majority of his death tangible and interacting with his old friends and family), and Tubbo was still weak from the fight with Dream and his subsequent death. Afterall, he’d only been dead for around five days. And he hadn’t exactly died pleasantly, or quickly, like both Schlatt and Wilbur had. Or publicly. No one knew what happened to Tubbo when he died. No one knew how he’d died either. He’d refused to tell them anything, only that ‘Dream took great pleasure in removing a thorn from his side’. It was safe to say he was scarred from whatever took place, and weakened from the events of the mountain. He wouldn’t be tangible for a while, but Schlatt and Wilbur couldn’t crush him by telling him so; they’d broken that kid enough during each of their lives. 

Tommy broke more and more with each day passing, and Tubbo broke with him. He was happy about the fact that Sam and Puffy seemed to care for Tommy, bringing him food and whatnot, but Tommy didn’t seem to acknowledge the items. He witnessed Tommy’s explosion at Puffy for suggesting he left the gravesite, although silently he agreed with her. He was pleased that Tommy cared this much, but he hated the fact he was neglecting his own health in favour of talking to a dead boy, who, as far as he knew, couldn't hear him. Tubbo hovered around the grave, trying to do something, to say something that could possibly change what Tommy was doing. But nothing was effective. 

It was the tenth day since Tubbo's funeral when something changed. Tommy stopped talking to him. Instead, he was writing. Aggressive, scribbled words on a sheet of paper that Puffy and Sam had left him, along with the food. Scribbled, erratic handwriting, lamenting how lost Tommy truly was without Tubbo. Writings that only Tommy would read, and writings for the people he planned to leave behind. "If things had been different, perhaps it'd be Tubbo mourning me… God knows I've avoided my funeral so far." Tubbo read forlornly. Tommy didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve all the shit that was happening to him, all the shit that had happened, all the shit people blamed him for. Tubbo saw the way Jack and Niki glared at Tommy and whispered plans to each other. He saw the way people still blamed Tommy for what happened on November 16th. 

It was the night of the tenth day when Tommy left. Tubbo didn’t need sleep anymore, and he’d been watching Tommy, keeping him safe from anyone who would potentially hurt him while he slept. The grave was left alone. He left a small letter, addressed to ‘whom it may concern.’ It was obvious that it’d be read by Sam and Puffy, because they were the only ones who seemed to have any tolerance towards Tommy. Once the letter had been safely secured to the gravestone, Tommy left. Tubbo followed him.

Tommy’s journey led him to his house. He rooted through his chests, seeming to be looking for something in particular. Tubbo felt Schlatt and Wilbur hovering behind him, but he really didn’t care. He was too focused on whatever Tommy was doing, because he was leaving. Tubbo was scared for Tommy. Because whenever things changed on this server, they always changed for the worse. By the time Tubbo snapped out of his thoughts, Tommy had found the thing he was looking for. Tubbo gasped when he saw what he was holding. It was the Axe of Peace, something Tubbo had nearly been on the receiving end of multiple times. 

* * *

Tommy was sure he heard a gasp when he pulled the Axe of Peace out of his chest, but he ignored it because no one had come in. No one had followed him, he made sure of it. Tommy would normally keep it in his ender chest, but he’d grown tired of seeing it every time he listened to his discs, so he buried it in some random chest, hoping to never need it again. He placed it on the side, and continued scrabbling through the chest, tossing random items aside. It didn’t matter if his house was a mess, because if everything went to plan, he’d never be back here. He found a slightly battered set of armour, likely from the Manberg-Pogtopia War, when everything first went to shit. It was one of the few things he salvaged from the explosions. Lifting it up, he could still smell the faint stale smell of gunpowder and withers from November 16th. It smelt of death. 

He went to his ender chest after removing the armour and weapon. Inside, sat his precious discs. The ones he fought for (the ones Tubbo died for, whispered a small voice in the back of his head). He pulled them out, after cautiously looking around (you’re paranoid, the voice whispered, Dream’s gone). He laid them carefully on the crafting table and returned to the chests. Finding a small, battered backpack, he returned to the discs. They were still where he left them (paranoid, it muttered). Carefully, he wrapped both discs in an old shirt, because both these discs had so much history (so much blood) and inserted them into the bag. They sat on top of the battered armour, which lay in a messy heap at the base of the bag. He didn’t want to wear it. He didn’t want to need it anymore. Various other items went into the bag: food, spare clothes, things that he would inevitably need for the journey. 

With one last look towards the house that he was leaving behind, and one last look towards Tubbo’s grave, he turned and walked away from his house. Walked away from the Dream SMP, away from L’Manberg, away from the wars, away from the people who he knew wanted to hurt him. Away from Dream. Because all his life, he’d spent running from something, something being a god, a family that never cared, or Dream. All his life on this godforsaken server, he’d been running from Dream. And he supposed he was just doing it again. Just one more mad dash away from Dream, for what he hoped to be the last time. He didn’t feel safe around the people that lived here anymore, because they never cared for him. 

There was a lot of silence on his journey. So much time alone with his thoughts. He didn’t have a goal on this journey. He just needed to get away from this godforsaken place where he lost everything. He lost Wilbur first, then L’Manberg, then the rest of his family… then Tubbo. There was nothing keeping him there. The discs were in his possession, Ghostbur was gone, his ‘family’ hated him, Dream was imprisoned. It wasn’t fair. Why was everything he cared about taken away? Why was something he actually liked held over his head? He never wanted any of this shit. Any of the war that the others blamed him for. He’s a kid. He’s still a fucking kid. No one understood that. No one wanted to accept that fact unless they wanted him to stay out of their conversation, because ‘the adults were talking’. He was sixteen, but he’d been in more wars, more conflict than half of these people had. Back on SMPEarth, when he fought God with Business Bay, when he fought Technoblade constantly, when he had so many enemies. On this server, with the first Independence War, then the election, then the shit that went down on November 16th, then exile. So much shit. So much pain that he shouldn’t have had to go through. Him and Tubbo had gone through. So he was leaving. Despite the fact that change was always bad on that goddamn server, despite the fact that everything he’d ever know (ever loved) was here, he couldn’t stay, not anymore.

Tubbo didn’t know where Tommy was going, but he knew he would follow him wherever he went. Because they were tied together. Kindred spirits, soulmates, two halves of the same whole. They were tied together and would go everywhere together. Except into death. Tubbo refused to let Tommy give up and join him. So he followed the boy into the woods, into the forest, far, far away from anyone who wanted to (or had, his mind supplied helpfully) hurt them. Tubbo would be lost without Tommy, and he knew that Tommy needed him as much as he needed Tommy. That much was evident with how Tommy  _ broke  _ at his death. With how Tommy hadn’t really been the same since exile (since Phil stabbed Wilbur, his mind whispered maliciously). So Tubbo would follow Tommy. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do there. He’d died, the others had moved on, there was nothing tying him to this place anymore.

* * *

Every ghost was tied to something, be it a place, a person, a promise. Something that remained unfinished, something that would tie them to the earth, tether them to the realm of the living. Every ghost on the Dream SMP had one. No matter what. No matter who they were in life, they all had a purpose to fulfil in death. It was unsurprising that the three ex-presidents, who somehow shared so much in common, were tied to people. Tied to the people, to the  _ person  _ they had wronged most in their life.

For Tubbo, that person had been Tommy – despite the fact many would say that Tubbo hadn’t wronged Tommy, because they were best friends, Tubbo still held guilt over what he did and didn’t do for Tommy. Like the exile, like having to hunt him down during Schlatt’s reign, like losing on the fucking mountain where everything went wrong.

For Wilbur… Well, he was also tied to Tommy, unsurprisingly. Because he was his brother, he was the man who Tommy had spent the most time with, who wasn’t Tubbo. He was the one who went insane in the end, who broke himself and everyone around him. He was tethered to Tommy by the guilt of his demise. How he broke and slipped into insanity at the end, how he forced his ‘father’ to kill him, how he promised demise to the country they had built together. So Wilbur was tethered by guilt and the need to right (some things would never be fixed) the wrongs that he did during his life.

For Schlatt, it was Tommy. It couldn’t be anyone else. That kid saw him as a mentor, an inspiration, someone he wanted to be like when he was older, despite the fact that Schlatt wasn’t all that great. But Schlatt was guilty too, of hurting Tommy. Afterall, he exiled him, he drove his brother into insanity, he held his best friend against him. Truth be told, Schlatt had definitely done more harm than good to these two kids, but in his death, he could fix something. Or at least bring it closer to being fixed. He’d done too many wrongs to completely reverse everything that had happened, but he wanted to change something.

* * *

The three ghosts, three ex-presidents, the three who had hurt eachother, and the child they followed, so fucking much in life, followed a grieving child into the forest, away from the place where everything had broken down.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I hated writing this and I still don't think it's very good. Could be better, I rushed this. I wanted to get it out within a week of posting the last one, and it's been nearly a week since then, give or take a few hours. Possibly gonna be another part? I don't know yet.  
> Kudos and comments are appreciated, if you like the story :)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/fishyflame_)  
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fishyflame)


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